


Strawberry Blonde

by Yana of the Arcana (sad_goomy)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Heartbreak, Jealousy, Light Angst, Melancholy, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Unrequited Love, absolutely based on a mitski song, devs please let me romance pasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_goomy/pseuds/Yana%20of%20the%20Arcana
Summary: Yana tries to pretend her feelings for Portia are merely platonic.She may have pretended too long.





	Strawberry Blonde

 

Yana likes to pretend there's no particular reason why she's spending so much time with Portia.

It's nice to take a break from the investigation, stepping out of the dark library and into the warm sun of the palace grounds – so what if her feet always lead her to the cottage tucked away in the forest? If Portia just so happens to be tending to her garden, singing an old Nevivon folksong and smiling to herself, then wouldn't it be ruder for Yana to simply walk away rather than stay and chat for an hour too long?

(She's really not fooling anyone, least of all herself.)

"What are you thinking about?"

Yana blinks, startled out of her thoughts by the loveliest smile she's ever seen. Pepi stirs in her lap, nuzzling her head on the magician's chest at the sudden lack of attention, which Yana quickly corrects by petting the cat's back in slow, languid strokes. Portia watches with a smile, one hand on her hip and the other holding her shovel, pausing in her garden work.

 

_You. I'm always thinking about you._

 

"Nothing in particular." If she keeps her gaze on those freckles, she's liable to say something devastating, something that will ruin the one confidante she has in the palace; she moves her eyes to the sky, blinking at the sun and studying the clouds. "Nadia won't be too happy with how unproductive I'm being."

Portia shakes her head, setting her shovel against the wall of her cottage. "She knows how hard you've been working," she assures Yana, stretching her back before taking the seat next to her on the bench. She looks out at the clearing, smiling at something no one else can see as she mumbles, "And we both know how generous she is."

Yana bristles, and Pepi notes her tension, deciding to slip out of her lap and instead slink off to terrorize some field mice, leaving the two women alone.

"She is, isn't she?" She doesn't mean for it to come out so bitter. Yana steals a glance at Portia, but she's still admiring how the breeze rustles the trees surrounding them, seemingly oblivious to the bite in the magician's voice. The mysterious smile the servant wears is warm, fonder than any she's ever shown Yana, and it sends her stomach sinking. Still, she can tell herself it doesn't mean anything, that she's overthinking again.

A bird calls softly in the distance, and Portia adjusts herself, shifting her weight and sitting back on the bench. She looks over at the apprentice, mysterious, wonderfully brilliant smile in place as she says, "And I know she may come off as aloof at times, but I've never met anyone so compassionate."

Yana musters a lopsided smile. "No one, huh?"

 

_Not even me?_

 

Portia shakes her head, and the faraway look is back in her eyes that sparkle and shine and Yana carves it into her memory even as she knows it isn't meant for her. "She truly cares for her people, you know?" She sighs, concern painting her features and worry edging into her voice. "She just wants to do right by Vesuvia, but I know she's tiring herself out with everything. I try to get her to rest, but she just won't have it – I've always admired her determination, the strength of her convictions."

Yana doesn't like the dreadfully cold envy poisoning her body, how it travels from her stomach down her legs, and up to her throat, making it constrict. She pulls her legs up onto the bench, hugging her knees to her chest and willing the feeling to go away.

It won't, certainly not in this silence as she sits in the shadow, Portia's warmth and sunshine not directed at her (and it never really has been, not in the way she wants it to be).

She frowns, watching the servant for a long moment and knowing that it's past time to stop pretending.

"Do you love her?"

The flush is answer enough, how her cheeks take on a lovely carnation pink hue and her eyes widen as she splutters, "Wh-what? That's not...No, I -"

"You're not very subtle." Yana wonders if she can tell that her smile is dripping in melancholy. She rests her cheek on her legs, watching Portia as she blushes over someone else, someone that she could never measure up to. A chuckle escapes her, but it feels flat and she swallows the rest of it to keep from being discovered. "I mean, the constant staring could be shrugged off." Heaven knows she's shrugged it off far too many times before – Yana feels the knife in her chest being twisted as she remembers all those adoring looks, those secretive glances between Portia and the Countess. 

Glances that she had hoped beyond all hope could one day be hers.

"But once you start talking about her," Yana says, ignoring the horrible taste in her mouth, the wretched twist of her gut, "Well, you give yourself away. I've never heard someone so in love."

And it's never hurt her so much as it does now.

Portia lets out a deep breath, her shoulders sagging but her blush persisting. She chews her bottom lip, fidgeting with her fingers as she peeks up at Yana. "I...I might have a  _small_ crush," she admits with a thrill, only a step away from a breathless giggle. Her smile returns, and if she can see the flash of pain in Yana's eyes, sense how she stiffens and grows cold, then she ignores it. "Can you really blame me, though? Ugh, I know it's hopeless, but I can't help it."

She would laugh if it didn't hurt so much to breathe. "I know the feeling." 

"You do?"

"All too well." The irony feels like the cherry on top, like a final dash of salt being rubbed vigorously into the wound. She swallows the pain, tries to ignore the new hurt that keeps bubbling to the surface, threatening to flow over. "You should tell her."

Portia raises a brow, soft and vulnerable as she asks, "You really think so?"

 

_No. Don't tell her, stop looking at her like she's everything you live for, see me instead and give me those same smiles and love me like how you love Nadia._

 

Yana nods. "Maybe not now, with everything that's happening, but eventually." She looks away, blinking her eyes and praying that Portia doesn't notice the tears threatening to form. With a shaky breath, she tells her simply, "It's worse to hide it."

"I suppose you're right." Another breeze rustles the trees around them, and Portia watches it with a smile, now with resolution and hope in her eyes, and it's so sweet and gentle that Yana bites her cheek to keep from screaming, from blurting out everything she's held in for so long. The servant turns to look at her with a smile, and it's brilliant and warm and nothing like the ones she shares with Nadia. "You always have the best advice for me, Yanina."

"I try," she mumbles, but the words feel heavy and clunky on her tongue. The air feels colder, sharper somehow, and with each breath she can feel it stabbing her lungs.

She stands. "I should go."

Portia blinks. "Already?"

"I really need to try and get some work done today." Yana brushes herself off, puts on a smile as she waves. "I'll see you at dinner." And she sets off without another word, without chancing another glance back at the servant. 

With every step, she feels her heart crack and splinter, and she builds a mantra in her head, forces herself to bite down on her cheek to keep from screaming, from crying, from finally breaking.

 

_I didn't love her. I didn't love her. I didn't love her._

 

(She's really not fooling anyone, least of all herself.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just really felt like breaking my own heart, ya know?


End file.
